


Make it with you

by FantasylandwithZee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 06:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17340602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasylandwithZee/pseuds/FantasylandwithZee
Summary: Harry just doesn't understand.





	Make it with you

"You don't understand what I feel towards you. You don't understand you're all the colours and all the shades of those colours, and I'm hopelessly in love with you."

It's not that Harry doesn't understand the intensity of what Zayn feels, because he does. He knows Zayn loves him and maybe more than just a normal, typical romantic love you see on tv shows or movies. It's just a little hard to grasp the cause of that love. No matter how much his fingers stretch for answers, how much his gaze rakes over his own body when he gets out of the shower and watches himself in the mirror, he just doesn't get it.

He's heard people complimenting him his whole life, talking about the way the green swirls enchantingly in his eyes, how expressive they are, how easy it is to get lost in them. Zayn tells him he'd like to drown in them one day, that he'd like to be drenched in Harry's gaze. They also praise his kindness and his charm, the ability to allure any passerby by just smiling, because his smile only can take you places.

He doesn't believe that though. He's just another imperfection, because he gets mad easily and he hates so many people. Hate is a strong emotion, he's shameful of it, of possessing such a feeling. Then he's clumsy and people say it's the most adorable thing ever, but they don't know the consequences of his lanky personality. God knows, he lost jobs because of that, so many relationships were flushed down the drain and so many heartbreaks came with it. His fingers used to shake when he tried to write down the pain on a piece of paper, only for it to smudge when the tears flowed out.

So he takes a step back, blinks twice and messes with the skin around his nails, till it's close to bleeding. There's something just so weirdly satisfying about that, that he does it more and more at a relentless speed, like the fast ticktock of seconds passing by.

Zayn pulls his hands apart, bumps his chest gently against Harry's and for moments all they do is breathe in the stifling air around them. The room smells of despondency and agitation, sweat clinging onto their bodies like the temperature has been raised to boiling. Harry can swear he feels his skin being scorched, can taste the angry burns on his flesh because why did Zayn have to come into his life?

And kiss him.

Because they're now connected so physically close, and his mother once told him that it doesn't take long for a soulful intimacy to be achieved. He doesn't want that. He doesn't deserve it. Howbeit, Zayn doesn't let him step away again and his arms are shaking in Zayn's hands, and their teeth are clashing because Harry doesn't want this. He doesn't get it.

It takes four tries, or maybe six, but he succeeds in pushing the angel away, panting, quaking, fearing. The raven beauty just watches him, half in pity and too much in benevolent affection, something that makes the tornado in Harry's heart that much more vicious.

He's turning around and running away from arresting arms, from the scented breath of Zayn's on his neck, and the butterfly kisses he keeps lavishing him with. He screams when tan muscles remain on his, wants Zayn to just get the fuck out and find someone else.

But that's exactly what Zayn doesn't want to do. Maybe there are better people out there for him, but he's obsessed with this curly lad in front of him. He desires his balmy embrace, his ethereal kisses and those enticing dimples. He's convinced, out of the seven billion people out there in the world, no one possesses mannerisms as captivating as this man's.

There's a basket of fruits just behind them in the dining table, and Zayn glances at it. Then does it again.

He's tried so hard: showered Harry with roses that smelled of breezy summers, and cotton-candies that took them down memory lanes. Hell, they've kissed under the stars on a ferris wheel, made love in dusky mornings between strawberry sheets. How Harry can still feel unworthy of it all, is beyond Zayn and truly at this very moment when Harry seems to be slipping from between his fingers, he really doesn't have any other choice.

So there's a slash of skin, a paper tearing, before Harry even realises what's going on. He's facing Zayn behind him, horrified at the blood pooling on his wrist.

"Zayn! Why...what...the fuck!"

He drags his hands up and down Zayn's wrist, trying to tame the red liquid that sickens him to the very core. And Zayn is saying something, his mouth is moving but Harry can't hear him through the chaotic madness piercing his ears. There are misty tears falling down the length of his cheeks, jumping off his chin like he so many times wanted to do. Just jump.

"Why would you? You're stupid. You're fucking stupid." That's all he manages to do, call him names, insult him with as many insults he can muster in his teary condition.

They end up sitting on the couch. Harry stretches his sleeve, covers Zayn's wound and looks around frantically in search of a first aid box or anything really.

"Fucking stupid." There's nothing else he can allow himself to say.

"I'd do much worse Harreh. I'd kill myself. Why don't you understand?"

The latter shakes his head, exasperation and grief written all over the lines on his forehead. Why doesn't _Zayn_ understand?

He is the most understanding one, knows just when to talk and when to step back, when to give space and when not to. Harry needs space, he craves it with a heart-shredding intensity. Zayn is supposed to understand that.

But all the raven man does is jerk his wrist away from pale fingers. He scoots closer to Harry, almost on his lap and mouths at his throat, the blood smearing all over the right side of Harry's face when his hand grips his curls. He doesn't care though but Harry does. No one would want to have blood on their face. Zayn is supposed to get it.

"Stop."

Of course Zayn does quite the opposite. His eyes are glazed over now, head starting to spin maybe because of the blood loss, but he can't make himself stop from clinging onto Harry. He thinks this is the only way he can make Harry understand how much he loves him, that there isn't a need for specific reasons why he does so. It's simple. Love is simple. It happens. Why the need to question why? Why the need to reject it so many times? 

There's no way he's letting the curly lad, with bright eyes and charming dimples, run away from him. He's not sure if he'll ever catch him then. Harry needs to be trapped, here in Zayn's heart, in their fondly decorated home, near the aesthetic skyscrapers, overlooking the busy streets of London. Or else, he'll fly so far away from his reach that Zayn will have to just swallow dust and live. Dying sounds much better than a life without his lover.

Eventually, the bleeding stops and so does Zayn's ability to keep on kissing Harry's neck. He feels like he's suddenly hovering near the ceiling watching a painful scene unravel, or like he's floating over thorny flowers that make him weep in shades of red.

His fingertips are wet with salty tears, Harry's tears. Too precious to be wasted like that. And then he's falling to the side with Harry crying out something that doesn't reach his ears, trembling fingers trying to hold him up. There's crimson paint all over Harry's face, two droplets resting on his bottom lip.

When Harry pulls Zayn close to his chest, arms enveloping him in much needed tenderness, Zayn looks up drowsily. He stares at the two drops for way too long and he still can't hear what Harry's saying.

His tongue has a mind of its own sometimes, lapping at anything that for a split second seems interesting enough. So there it is, on Harry's bottom lip cleaning away the scarlet liquid that tastes bittersweet inside his mouth.

And then he's out.

And then Harry breaks completely. Holding Zayn's limp body in his arms, sure that he's just fainted nothing else, he still sobs like all the world's problems have  dropped on his shoulders. Like Zayn's gone.

He hasn't because Harry can still feel the faint beat of his heart, but his closed eyes make time heavier and the air thicker.

But he gathers himself in some time, seconds that seemed like eternity, and finally manages to bandage Zayn's wrist.

"I'll do much worse Harreh. I'll kill myself. Why don't you understand?"

Three sentences that he thinks will haunt him into infinity and oblivion. If he leaves today, tonight, if he races far away into a deserted island and gets lost in the sand, these three phrases will make his life a living hell. Zayn's words are no joke. If he can knife himself like that, he can kill himself too. He's had way too many examples of that.

《》 《》 《》

When Anne comes over with a muscle-tearing smile that lights up her eyes, Harry is on his knees with hands clasped. Praying. Harry is not much for praying and so when Anne sees the tears in his eyes and the trembling hands pleading for mercy, she embraces him in a gentle hug, kisses his hair one too many times.

She makes coffee, black and bitter just like Harry likes.

"Why black and bitter?" Anne asks.

Harry contemplates for a while. He's never given much thought to why he would want black coffee, bitter to his insides when he always preferred sweetness over it. What's so special about black coffee? He likes all types of coffees but if he had to choose, he would pick black. He had no idea why though.

For moments that's the only thing that bothers Harry. He doesn't know why he likes black coffee.

So he shrugs. "Then how can you demand a reason for Zayn's love towards you?"

To say that Harry is speech-ridden would be an understatement. His hand is on Zayn's thigh and he squeezes unconsciously, attempting to understand where his mother is coming from.

"Darling, sometimes you just like something. There doesn't need to be a specific reason for why you like it. You just do." And then after a moment. "He bleeded for you. Don't let him die for you."

Maybe Harry's thinking too hard and too fast and he's dizzy. Maybe the thoughts in his brain are so noisy that he doesn't hear it. Maybe he's gone blind that he doesn't see. His mum is not there in the room anymore but he's not worried about that at all. He just wants to know.

He just wants to know again. The reasons. One last time and he's sure he'll be satisfied, but Zayn never tells him why. He's done telling Harry that, he's done repeating but Harry needs to hear it again and again. He's selfish, he realises that but what's wrong for wanting a reason to be loved. He doesn't want to hear the typical eye compliment, or the charm that he's got or how kind he is towards the poor. He wants to know something different.

He wants to be loved because he's got a random mole on his back, or because when he's stressed he goes off-key with his singing, or because the way he dresses is too stupid and silly for a guy to dress. He wants to be loved because he wears black nail polish and loves colourful glasses. Because he has a collection of gucci suits in his wardrobe, and flashy shoewear lined next to it. He wants to be loved because his toothbrush is cartoonish and because he smells of coconut shampoo. Does Zayn love him because of all that?

He just wants to know something different.

He gazes over at Zayn again, now sleeping (not unconscious like before) and he curls himself on top of him. He shapes himself the way Zayn is shaped, like a foetus and holds that warm body under his tightly. He never wants to let go.

Zayn shifts a little, squirms until he realises the weight of Harry's body on his. And he realises those silent cries, the miserable tears falling from Harry's cheeks down to his own. He releases his bandaged arm from under his lover, and instead wraps it around his shoulders, fingers brushing through his curls.

"Forgive me." Harry whispers and Zayn's heart breaks a little then mends back, because Harry hides himself under Zayn's chin, forehead resting on his chest.

"Let me love you and forgiveness will come like magic." He whispers back.

"Don't ever hurt yourself again."

Zayn adjusts his head a little, so that his lips are grazing Harry's ear softly like a distant melody.  "Don't ever hurt yourself again." He repeats.

He tries to get Harry to look at him but the latter doesn't let him, holding onto his arms taut. He thinks Zayn will be cursed if he looks at him now.

"Precious..." Still no answer, no eye contact. "Let me look at you, Precious."

"Don't call me that. If you were blind, would you still fall for me?" It's an odd question but Zayn takes it with a smile.

And Harry's hands are flying over to the raven man's eyes, covering them so he can't see his red face right now. He leans away, looks at those parted pink lips and he wants to kiss them so badly but he doesn't. Zayn sighs, but there's a subtle curl of his lips that drives Harry insane. He puts a hand over Harry's eyes too and right now, in these fleeting seconds they're both blind.

Like a magnet, their lips hover over each other, on the verge of touching, on the verge of kissing. Just one step further. One step further.

They're kissing now, all slow and gentle, steady in a dizzying world. Harry wants to describe the kiss, he really does but honestly no amount of words ever express just how beautiful it is, how it makes him feel. So he settles for saying or thinking absolutely nothing, just letting the brushing flavours tickle his heart. He just lets the kiss consume him completely, achieving soulful intimacy.

Though Zayn's hand slides down from Harry's eyes a few moments into the kiss, Harry's hand doesn't. So when they break for air, Zayn smiles again and traces Harry's knuckles featherly.

"I'd still fall for you."

Harry kisses him again gently. Zayn kisses back blindly.

"Been twelve months hasn't it?" The raven man suddenly asks and it takes Harry a while to answer. Hesitating, he's stunned himself at how much it's really been. Closed eyes and Zayn thinks it's okay if he stays blind like this for the rest of his life, if having a hand covering his eyes is what assures Harry of his love. "And I've seen twelve different Harries in this span of time. You know what though?" The curly lad whispers a quiet no before going back to fiddling with Zayn's shirt's buttons. "I'm in love with all of them."  Then he's leaning in again, lips on a quest to Harry's and when they find it, Zayn whsipers each word slow. He prolongs each syllable against Harry's lips so that the latter can feel the words forming, not just hear them. "You can show you me your worst, and I'll still find a way to love you."

Harry sighs, shoulders slumping and his body just collapses on Zayn's chest, the hand not covering his eyes anymore. But Zayn still doesn't look into Harry's eyes even though he can. He wants permission.

Harry grants him, gazes into his hazel orbs and sighs again. "I love you."

 

_"You don't understand what I feel towards you. You don't understand you're all the colours and all the shades of those colours, and I'm hopelessly in love with you."_


End file.
